prism
by PurpleDiva888
Summary: AU. He can't see colors - and she can't see light. Gray/Lucy. Dedicated to WolfieANNE.


**title: **prism

**summary: **AU. He can't see colors – and she can't see light.

**genre: **drama/romance

**dedication: **WolfieANNE

* * *

_He paints – his paintbrushes are his mighty swords and the blank canvas is his life._

_She writes – her life is practically all about messy scrawls of plots and crumpled paper tossed carelessly._

* * *

_one._

As a child, she loved fairytales.

(call her clichéd, but she still does)

She still remembers her mom's soothing voice reading them out every night in that tone that makes people of any ages doze off comfortably.

She remembers being so fascinated as she listened, and when she started feeling sleepy and imagined a blonde princess with brown eyes, her mom tucked her in, kissed her cheek, turned the lights off, and she went snoozing into a slumber – that was the daily routine.

(memories, memories, memories)

Soon enough, she learnt reading.

She read as an enjoyment, sometimes as a distraction to the point that it became an obsession. Heck – Erza told her to go marry her books, as they might as well be her soulmate. (but _please, _who needs love when they have books?)

Then she discovered writing.

(and _that_ was how everything began.)

* * *

two.

"You're amazing dear – how our world is truly blessed with your talent!"

He fakes a smile at the compliments that he has heard for way too many times.

"It truly is a remarkable victory! A 10-year-old kid beating the professionals! I'd say you're a prodigy!"

Shut up, he thinks quietly. He's tired.

"I would have never guessed to see so much talent in a boy!"

He doesn't like being showered with compliments; he's sick of the pressure and expectations, and regrets being a _prodigy_.

"You'll definitely be famous when you grow up!"

He bites his inner cheek, and forces another smile, ignoring the urge to roll his eyes and snap at the obnoxious, fat lady and her old, tiny husband.

He doesn't really care.

(he doesn't even have a dream.)

* * *

three.

She loves the way words can flow and create her _own _sentences, how she could express her feelings with just words. A brand new page, a brand new beginning – another piece of her life.

But she isn't born gifted, she does not grasps writing automatically and she may not be meant to be a writer since she is not a prodigy – Lucy knows.

Her sentences are rough here and there and she chooses the wrong words sometimes while her plots are usually overrated and simply boring but when you overlook all the _tinytiny_ mistakes and makes it _fit_ somehow, she loves the feeling.

There is a shiver of excitement when she reads it, like a sudden surge of energy no matter how many times she does – and that makes her want to continue writing all the time. It's like she's found her goal of life and it just suitsso much that she never gets bored with it.

It _almost _feels like she's a creator in her very own world.

Lucy sighs dreamily at the dream of having a best-selling novel.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she starts reading the recent paragraph she's been working on and notices the rushed flow and how her words didn't fit. She notices flaws by flaws.

(disappointment, disappointment)

(Lucy frowns.)

* * *

four.

He loves the way his brush comes in contact with the blank sheet.

He runs his hands through the smooth paper, there is a certain roughness to it in an edgy way, and he _likes _it. His brush was made of fine feathers and has bristle tips, and the oil paint glimmers in his eyes.

It's like starting over, like every parchment was a new chance given to him to redeem his mistakes and do better.

He watches the black paint spread as he taints the white paper with his weapon skillfully

He notices the slightly jagged ends in slight surprise. It is rare for him to make mistakes – but as the saying goes, _nobody's_ perfect.

(Gray smiles.)

* * *

five.

They meet in a bus.

It's May and it's raining, so he waits at the bus stop, not wanting to risk his newest creation getting wet.

He sees her sitting at back, near the window, novel forgotten on her lap – staring out as if lost in thought with her earphones dangling. There's something, something about her that makes him think of a lady in a rich mansion pampered with her servants and butler when he sees her shiny blonde locks and gorgeous brown eyes.

He hates those types, but he doesn't have a choice either, it's just for fifteen minutes anyway, he reminds himself bitterly as he trudges towards her.

He wordlessly points at the seat beside her. She glances for a few seconds, then scoots over to give him space.

He nods as thanks and sits.

She smiles in return – and Gray can't help but notice her smile screams _fakefakefake_ like it's pasted there on her pretty, little face and it makes him hate her even more – just like all those smiles he has ever seen and has been drilled into his mind by his mother to return as a polite gesture.

This time though, he makes it an exception.

(anyone fake doesn't deserve a smile he decides)

(throughout the journey, neither of them speaks.)

* * *

six.

They meet at the rooftop.

Sounds of footsteps.

Lucy snaps out of her thoughts and daydreams and looks up from her manuscript– she sees the guy from the bus she rode two days ago.

She's slightly surprised.

His disheveled raven hair and onyx eyes are still the same ones as she remember with his sword pendant hung around his neck, but what's new is that he's wearing her school's uniform with the top two buttons undone with no tie – that's when she realizes they go to the same school.

"I've never seen you around before," She says slowly – she's been since freshman after all. Her school is a small public school with not so many students; she should've seen him at least once if he's been here for a while.

"Transferred recently," He replies, hands still in his pockets.

Two words. Simple, short, and to the point – she feels her mouth quirk slightly upward.

"I see."

Neither makes an effort to get the conversation flowing.

He points toward the space next to her (just like how he did two days ago) – the space that has always been her spot.

It has always been since two years ago – nobody has ever bothered visiting the rooftop when they could always hang out with their friends during break time.

It is her spot – and she has never shared it with anyone before, so she simply smiles (_fake, fake, fake)_ as she watches the spot that used to be hers alone – slowly become _theirs._

(she doesn't like the sound of the new word)

* * *

seven.

He's back.

She doesn't miss the brushes and paint he's holding with his right hand and the canvas he's holding with his left at the corner of her eye.

They nod at each other in acknowledgement – and he sits, takes his brushes and paint, then starts mixing shades of black.

Lucy stares in fascination – it's as if watching a magic show. Something unpredictable happens and his hands are skillfully moving and mixing without a single flaw – with shades of dark gray and black and white. When the brush runs against the white paper and starts becoming a dark, snowy night, she releases the breath she's been holding unconsciously.

She realizes.

He can create something so brilliant, something so _special _in a matter of minutes but there's nothing.

There's nothing in his eyes.

He does it without any effort – because he's _born _with the talent, and he doesn't even need to try.

There's a bitter feeling lurking in the pit of her stomach as she stares at the masterpiece.

She hates him for it.

_(she's jealous)_

* * *

eight.

It becomes a routine.

She sits at the rooftop, waits for him, nod in greeting, he sits and through the silence – they _create_.

They don't speak to each other, because they know even when they didn't know each other - but they're aware of the simple unspoken rules they have created.

(one, don't ask)

Unconsciously, they build hard, walls that do not crumble down easily.

(two, don't cross the line)

Neither party is curious about each other and tries to break the wall down and look beyond the facade.

(three, pretend everything's fine)

They are strangers after all. Why should they care?

(the bitter feeling is still there every time she sees his painting.)

* * *

nine.

She's stupid.

Gray isn't the type of person to poke his nose into other people's business, but he's the type to observe silently in the shadows.

He notices a lot of things, from how she always chews her lips in an almost frustrated fashion as she continues to write – and how often she crosses out lines discontentedly to how she occasionally tucks her hair in her right ear.

Sometimes he sneaks a peak at her manuscript – and he decides she isn't a bad writer, it's not _bad _or anything, it's quite _interesting_ - but it's not exactly to the point of _brilliant _or _outstanding_.

That's why she's stupid.

She won't ever make it, he thinks inside his head, she won't make it because she doesn't stand out and she's not _special_.

"Why do you even write?"

The words slip out of his mouth before he could even register what he said. He curses inwardly – there wasn't supposed to be any contact between them.

She looks up from the paper, and stares (one of the habits he also notices) at him.

"You should know that in the _real_ world, there's a lot of competitions out there, and if you don't _stand_ _out_," He points out emotionlessly, because it's annoying seeing her try so hard at something almost impossible, "You don't have a high chance of succeeding you know."

She gives him a dark look.

For a second, he almost regrets his bitter words and how he lashes out at her when she did nothing wrong.

"Since when do _you _care?" She hisses back venomously, "Why do you even bother with me anyway? It's none of your business, you don't have the right to say that! Why can't you stop sticking your nose into my business and just leave me alone?"

He doesn't reply.

He doesn't reply because she's right.

Something in him clicks and he finally knows the answer.

He realizes.

She loves it.

He bites the inside of his cheek as his stomach churns uncomfortably and he feels the twisted knots and uneasy feeling.

He hates her for it.

_(he's jealous)_

* * *

ten.

He's not coming – Lucy realizes in her mind.

It's been 30 minutes since the school bell rung and he's not here.

It's his fault, she tells herself quietly, it's his fault for barging in my business when he doesn't have any right to do so and I shouldn't feel guilty for anything at all.

So instead, she smiles (like what she is supposed to do) and looks at the blue sky where the clouds are drifting and looks like cotton candy (which makes her think of festivals and fireworks).

She's supposed to be happy.

No, she _is _happy, she mumbles, she's glad – _very _glad that he's not here to judge her or criticize her for being stupid and now she finally gets _her _spot back without having to share with an insensitive bastard who pokes into other people's business.

Yeah, she is, she smirks triumphantly.

The breeze is calming (just like how her mom's voice used to be) and suddenly memories of her mom and her purpose of life come back running to her mind. Her eyes starts to droop before she's finally dreaming of her books displayed on the bookshelves as best sellers and her name printed on the newspaper headlines.

A smile tugs on her lips.

(she's finally safe – she doesn't have to run away anymore)

/

When she wakes up, he's there sitting next to her.

(Is she dreaming?)

He seems to notice her awake as his eyes widens for a fraction.

"I'm sorry," He mutters softly as he averts his gaze from her (looking almost, _almost _guilty).

Her eyes are blurry and she's feeling too lightheaded to respond and the voices in her head are telling her to go back to sleep, so she only nods back and returns back to sleep again.

(when she wakes up and it's four, there are no traces of him left behind, so it must have been a dream, she tells herself)

* * *

eleven.

The next day, he arrives fifteen minutes late.

He approaches her cautiously and reluctantly stands in front of her as she looks up from her manuscript with an unreadable expression.

"I'-" He pauses uneasily, eyebrows knit in a frustration as if trying to find the correct words.

Silence.

He clears his throat, then corrects himself, "I don't think your writing is bad or anything and I do admit it was childish for me to insult you when I have no write so.."

He trails off, hesitant of saying anything else.

"Yeah," She says at last, "Thanks."

He nods back, nothing else to say.

(for the first time, he sees her smile a genuine smile)

* * *

twelve.

She's now used to his brooding presence (which she's quite surprised of, who knew she could stand him for 2 hours every single day?).

He's a quiet guy who doesn't talk much and paints beautifully, she's learned. He enjoys silence, and doesn't have an expression most of the time and-

She blinks.

She has finally realized that she doesn't know his name, and it's already _autumn _for God's sake. How long has that been since they first met?

"Hey," She calls out.

He cracks an eye open, "What?"

"What's your name?"

He blinks, and now he's sitting properly, she's surprised to see a slight twitch tug his mouth.

"It's been a few months and you still don't know my name?"

He's doing it again. He's being a smarty-pants who just doesn't know his place.

"Well it's not like you know _mine _anyway," She snaps back at him, harsher than she intends but she has_ every _right to do so since _he's _being the arrogant jerk here.

"Your point exactly?" He asks coolly.

She grits her teeth and crosses her arms.

"You know what? Forget it."

(and just when she thinks he's not as bad as she thinks he really is)

* * *

thirteen.

"I know your name now," She announces boastfully as she skips merrily towards his direction and points towards him, "Gray right?"

There's a surprised look written on his face.

"How did you know?"

"Connections," She smirks, twirling a blonde lock, "Let's just say that I have a lot of friends."

"Oh," He says offhandedly as he squeezes the watercolor paint out of the tube, "Never knew you have them."

She glares, "Have what?"

"Friends," His eyes flicker to her for a fraction before resuming his work.

"Just because you don't have them doesn't mean you have to be a sore in the ass you know," She places a hand on her hips as she narrows her eyes threateningly.

"I _have _friends," He scowls.

"Oh _really_?"

"_Yes_," He snaps persistently.

"Then why are you so stuck-up?" She shoots.

"Why are you so annoying?" He counters.

She smirks, "Touché."

He rolls his eyes, "I don't know yours either."

"My name's Lucy," She answers automatically, before adding, "And unlike you, I'm a nice person who actually _introduce _myself to people like you who still don't know my name after it has been, what? Almost half a year?"

"I never asked," He glares daggers at her, who (not to his surprise) is unfazed.

She ignores his glare, and hums a tune merrily, "You know.."

"What?"

"Your name," She whispers quietly. "It suits you."

He raises an eyebrow, "How so?"

Instead of answering his question, she grins brightly, in a way that _almost _makes him think her happiness is real but he remembers that she is nothing but a lifeless doll.

("I just know.")

* * *

fourteen.

"Why are we here?"

Lucy blinks, mildly surprised at his voice. She's known him long enough to know he almost _never _asks her question and only talks when she annoys him.

(not that she blames him, they _are _strangers and know nothing about each other anyway)

Autumn is ending and it has gotten colder lately. She can see his white breath when he speaks.

"Because this is my spot," She sneers mockingly, pointing towards the cold floor, "And I have no idea why for you. Why don't _you _answer yourself?"

He chuckles dryly – and Lucy's surprised to hear the deep sound since he never, _ever _laughs.

(or maybe he just doesn't around her)

"I was hoping for a more inspirational answer, coming from the likes of _you,"_ He taunts, twirling his paintbrush expertly with his fingers.

_"Heh,"_ She rolls her eyes, "Well obviously because we chose to be here. Nobody told you to come here all the time and forced me to share this spot with you – I mean, you're just the total stranger that I met on the bus who just _happened_ to go to the same school as I do and find this place by coincidence, or might it be fate I wonder? Hm?"

He doesn't reply, but there's a slight twitch on the corner of his lips.

(he gets the message behind the lie, she's not surprised)

* * *

fifteen.

"What do you think you'll be when you grow up?"

Gray doesn't even stop painting to look at her. He knows she notices the hardened grip on his paintbrush, which causes a small gray splotch on the sakura flower, but she ignores it anyway.

"I think I'll be a doctor," She notes as she continues writing, before tapping her pencil to her chin in thought, "My father tells me to be one anyway."

He stops painting – his raises an eyebrow in confusion as he stares at the blonde girl.

"Didn't you want to be an au-"

"I did," she pauses, "and I still do I guess."

He forms creases on his eyebrows.

"Then why?"

She looks at him.

"I thought you knew why."

He bites his tongue, "I don't."

(He sees her surprised look, but he doesn't care. What did she expect him to do anyway?)

He continues painting – and she continues writing. No words are uttered.

Maybe that's why they're here – sitting next to each other at the rooftop without a care of the world.

(and maybe she's not as spoilt as he thinks she is)

* * *

sixteen.

"I lost my mom when I was 6."

Gray doesn't budge.

"What happened?"

Lucy cracks a small smile, "She wanted to fly."

"And?"

"Now she's finally free."

(they spend the rest of the afternoon staring at the clouds)

* * *

seventeen.

"Why do you paint in black and white?"

His eyes dart towards her, as she points to his canvas.

He doesn't really feel like answering – but if he doesn't answer, she'll only obnoxiously proclaim him as mute and won't ever shut up.

So he observes his black and white rose and finds himself unable to answer for the first time in his life. Either way, it isn't an important question – and she isn't an important person _either._

He shrugs, "I just do."

There is a silence, and he finds himself hoping the silence lasts forever and closes his eyes.

"You're colorblind aren't you?"

His eyebrows knits together and turns around fully facing her as he opens his mouth, ready to retort a comeback but when he sees her wearing a sad smile, he's honestly surprised.

He never knew people like _her_ could make that expression.

She's still staring at him expectantly, as if urging him to say yes, so he complies since he doesn't want to hear her (annoying) protests and claim him being in denial.

(of course, why else would he say yes?)

"Yeah, maybe I am."

(deep, deep down, he knows it's true but he ignores it anyway.)

* * *

eighteen.

They're teenagers, and teenagers are supposed to be having the best time of their lives and partying away before they graduate and has to find a job and fret over their rent and work, work, work until they're old and finally die.

(Or when they're lucky, they'll be married and have kids)

"Why are you here?" He questions as he peers curiously at her face, then taking a seat next to her.

She raises an eyebrow, "I thought I was welcomed here."

"No, I mean why are you here when you're supposed to be getting dolled up and frantic about the wrinkles on your dress with your friends then party the night away," He corrects himself.

"Huh," A glint of amusement twinkles in her eyes, "I thought you knew me."

He rolls his eyes, "Well it seems like I don't."

She smirks, "Why are _you _here?"

"I'm here because I want to be," He retorts flatly.

Her smirk gets wider at his response, "Well it seems I'm here because of the same reason."

"Don't copy me," He growls, "Now go back home and pick out a dress and go get your makeup done, there's still time. It's only been 5 minutes."

"Well what if I don't want to?"

He snorts.

"I could care less."

"Besides, I don't have a date."

He scrutinizes her face, "Are _you _telling me to be your date?"

"Do you _want_ to?" She counters slyly, now her mouth forming a mischievous wide grin that couldn't possible get any bigger.

"No," He says quickly, deadpan.

She pouts, and feigns a hurt look, but she keeps her mouth shut and returns back to her work, humming an unknown tune.

"If," He starts, peering at her with a serious look, "_If _I went there, would you go?"

She doesn't smile, nor does she grin, or smirk.

"Maybe," She says finally.

"Why?"

He stares.

She finally looks up and her eyes bore into his as she opens her mouth.

("I don't know.")

* * *

nineteen.

"I hate you," He announces one rainy day – it's April after all and April meant April showers after all (he hates how humid everything gets).

Her eyes are still glued on the book she's reading (Harry Potter and the sorcerer's stone), and the highlighters she recently bought are already used to highlight sentences and ideas.

She smirks, "I know."

_I hate you too._

_"_You're annoying."

"I know," She repeats.

_As if you aren't._

He glares hard – a steely gaze that might've scared the daylights out of people - but this is Lucy, and she's not scared of him.

"Why are you here?" He closes his eyes with a pained expression.

She smiles a lopsided smile.

("Because I'm real.")

* * *

twenty.

"Today's my mom's death anniversary."

She's not crying.

"So?"

"Let's walk home together."

"No."

She looks at him pleadingly.

"Please. Just this once."

He doesn't like the idea.

But when he sees that she's practically begging as if her life depends on it, for once, he complies to her request.

(they don't bother with the umbrella in their bags as they run and run without looking back, hoping the rain would wash the pain away)

* * *

twenty-one.

"There's a rainbow," He notes absent-mindedly. The rain had stopped and there are only drops of rain left.

"I can't see it."

He frowns in protest, "It's right in front of yo-"

"I thought you knew I'm blind," She retorts as she continues to twirl her pen and read Hunger Games.

"Right," He snorts – half of him admitting the truth, while the realistic side of him protests, "I'm blind too."

She laughs.

"No, you're just colorblind."

"Well colors are made of light," He points out, refusing to give in to her, "and if I can't see colors, it literally means I can't see light and if I can't see light, it means I'm also blind since-"

"Light bounces off from an object and travels into our eyes, I know," She quotes.

He doesn't say anything, but there's an impressed look on his face.

"I need to graduate with honors," She states matter-of-factly, "Well my dad expects me to do so anyway, especially in science."

Silence.

She knows what he's thinking.

"What about your dreams?" He narrows his eyes.

She blinks, then smiles sadly, "What dreams?"

His mouth forms a straight line, as he grits his teeth and clenches his fists.

(she notices)

"I'm sure you can do it."

(she blinks in confusion, she doesn't know which he is referring to)

* * *

twenty-two.

"Tomorrow's the last day."

"Aa."

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

Pause.

"No," He finally says.

She smiles either way.

("I'll be waiting.")

* * *

twenty-three.

He doesn't come.

She has known it since the beginning and has expected it either way – he's not the type to not do what he says.

Instead of the cold person she's grown to know, there's a canvas standing innocently against the railing.

She blinks in surprise – it's bright, she thinks.

There's an array of colors – orange mixed with pink and peach, with white to accentuate and yellow as a finishing touch – and all the watercolors mix as if they're one. It doesn't have a particular shape, or size, or form or _whatever _- but it's beautiful, _breathtaking _even.

He's not colorblind anymore, she thinks inside.

Lucy smiles.

No note, no writing – just a little signature at the bottom right corner.

It's just like him.

(and for the first time, she sees light.)

* * *

twenty-four.

She graduates with honor, and smiles (is it fake? is it real?) at every teacher's word of praises.

They meet at the hall.

She's with her friends, and he's with his.

(It's the first time she sees his friends, she realizes.)

Time seems to stop, and he's the only one she sees.

(inside her head, she wishes time would stop forever)

He breaks it with a nod. She blinks in realization, and nods back.

They pass each other, not sparing each other another glance.

(don't look back, don't look back, she chants in her mind)

* * *

twenty-five.

Lucy bites her lip as she stares at the two invitations of universities on her study desk in front of her.

Her mind is screaming from the stress, and this is possibly the hardest decision she could ever make and would probably change her life _forever_.

"Which one should I pick Plue?" She sighs, showing the two envelopes to her little white dog.

Plue blinks in confusion and tilts his head.

"Put a paw on which I should pick," She urges softly, as her heart races at Plue's inching paws.

She blinks in surprise at the decision, and a smile creeps up her face.

("I think you're right Plue.")

* * *

twenty-six.

They're twenty-two when they meet again.

He had gotten a bad flu, and went to the newly opened clinic he could find since he still needs to finish another painting of his.

Honestly, he's surprised to see the very same shiny blonde locks and doe-like eyes that he has never expected to see again.

But when he sees her white coat and the stethoscope, there's a _tinytiny _bit of disappointment in his heart as his stomach drops.

(It's her choice, he says quietly in his mind)

She blinks in surprise when she sees him, before smiling and regaining her composure with a newly formed twinkle in her eyes, "Hi. How are you?"

He ignores her question.

"You're a doctor?" He raises an eyebrow, taking a seat on the black stool in front of her desk, before sneezing yet once again.

She ignores his question in turn and grins, scribbling what seems to be his name and age. "You have flu correct?"

He nods.

"We've been getting many patients with flu, well it's May after all, allergies everywhere," She giggles (this time, it doesn't sound like a styrofoam against each other, it's slightly deeper, and he _might_ like it just a tiny bit), swiveling her chair to take another pen, "Judging by the paint on your shirt, you're a painter?"

He nods again, frowning, "How about you?

She looks up from the papers, "Pardon?"

"Why," He starts, "are you here?"

"Why," She stares at him amusedly, like he's a little kid who dreams of being superman and still plays with his action figures. He hates it – he decides.

"I'm here because I chose to be."

He bites his tongue to refrain from snapping at her.

"You know," She begins, while she hands him a piece of paper, "You haven't changed at all. That's good."

"You've changed," He says quietly.

"Go hand the nurse the paper I wrote," She orders, which makes him not sure if she heard him or not. When he looks at her face, she still has that mysterious smile on her pretty little face on, "You know, we should catch up with each other."

He's still frowning at her, but he makes an effort to reply and grunts anyway, accepting the paper while starting to pick up his coat, "What time?"

She grins, "How about 9?"

Gray blinks, reaching for the door handle, "Why so late?"

There it is again, the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He decides it's better than seeing her fake and lifeless eyes.

"Well," She smirks playfully, twirling the pen around, "It seems the publishing company wants my manuscript handed in tonight and they want me by 7 PM sharp."

He stops and pretty much freezes on the spot. His eyes are wide as he turns around to face her, flabbergasted.

"You don't mind do you?" She teases slyly, inspecting her manicured nails.

"W-what?" He manages to choke out.

"Alright, great! It's all set then! Now off you go," She chirps merrily, as she pushes him out of her office, "My other lovely patients are waiting you know. Can't keep them waiting can I?"

With a slam, he's out of her office.

(He's still standing in front of the door, gaping)

* * *

twenty-seven.

This time, he's there – waiting for her.

She laughs at his indifferent expression as he continues sneezing repeatedly, poking his cheek, "Been waiting long?"

He scoffs, shoving his hands in his pocket, and she giggles yet once again.

"You never told me you're an author."

She blinks, and beams at him with glowing pride that she practically shines, "Why, you never asked."

He glares at her, "Well, I di-"

She cuts him off by pressing her lips against his firmly.

When she breaks apart, his mouth is still hanging open and she grins, twiddling her fingers together which isn't very like her at all. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and her eyes are cast downwards but the smile is still there in all its glory.

"I love you."

(for the first time, he thinks her smile is breathtaking.)

/

**fin.**

* * *

**notes 1/15/14 : **

This one's for you buddy :)

It's been a while since I last wrote something, and it's 1 o'clock in the morning.

Yeah, towards the end, my muse kinda disappeared. At around 12, I was suddenly inspired so I started writing, then I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and when I returned, my muse was gone. Lol.

It's not bad in my opinion, but well, ahaha I don't know anymore.

Well I'd like to point out the irony since I'm studying light in science, and today in class, we were asked what we wanted to be in the future. The teacher gave us a pretty long lecture about it XD

Love ya Anne :)

**edit. 1/16/14**

Should I add the fact that today my art teacher was discussing about theories of colors and what the colors represent, and in math, I'm learning about prisms? C:

How coincidental indeed XD Life works out in such a strange way no?

And I might say this is the longest one shot I have ever made. Seriously. I think it's also the longest chapter XD I mean, it's not everyday I have the inspiration and time to write as many words as reaching 5000 you know, well that includes the author's notes but, oh well :p

I'll be honest that I'm quite nervous publishing this since it's been a while since I've written pretty much anything (nah, actually I have a GraLu multi fanfic, but well, I plan to finish writing it first until the end, and _then _publish it.)

I had a lot of ideas so I tried to kinda jam it into one piece and I think I failed miserably. I have alternate endings as well, haha, but I decided to leave it as a happy ending in the end XD

This was originally a GraLu one-shot, but I changed it to RoLu :D

Seriously, I'm really nervous about posting this up. I think it was better in my head, I'm really sorry for it..

**edit. 1/19/14**

Um, I hope readers aren't confused about some things, ehehe. Well I'd like to point out 'blind' is used figuratively, Lucy isn't really 'blind' literally, she _can _see and Gray isn't literally 'colorblind' as well. Lucy is 'blind' because she can't see 'light' which is also used as a figurative manner, because everything she sees is darkness.

Gray can't see colors because - well, everything in his vision is black and white (not literally!)

I'd also like to thank Aquos35 for pointing out my mistake, haha, sorry bout that!

And I added a scene :)

* * *

**edit. AGAIN. 2/23/14**

I just noticed in my edit, I wrote Gray haha! I decided to change this fic to its original pairing, GraLu. My GraLu fangirl side has been screaming to change it so I did. I know Rogue's character is better here, but I want to convey Gray's much more deeper, darker side. Even Natsu, our loveable idiot has his deep and dark side.

Well, now I feel like the story's finally complete.

Don't get me wrong, I love RoLu, but I _did _make it as a GraLu, so I, as the author think it's better for it to be Gralu. Well that's it. Haha. Seriously, I edit too much. XD


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